


The man who armed a planet.

by melancholicInspiration



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Alcohol, BDSM, Drug Mentions, F/M, I headcanon Dr Ned and Zed as being two different people in this fic, M/M, Parental Death, Rape, Torture, Wereskags, bad stuff ahead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 10:19:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4133823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melancholicInspiration/pseuds/melancholicInspiration
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The history of one Marcus Kincaid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pandora at first

**Author's Note:**

> This fic will have some pretty intense stuff even in the early chapters. Also there are some major 'liberties' I took with Marcus' backstory and I am aware that most of this probably isn't close to canon.

The Kincaid family was one of the first families to come to Pandora, aside from the bandit tribes that came and went as they deigned to. Even back then there were bandits, and most of them solitary and preferring to keep to themselves but aware that they knew the rough lands much better than any of the newcomers did and sometimes - if one caught the odd bandit or two in an amiable mood - they would tell stories of where the creatures could have come from and why noone else had inhabited Pandora. 

In later years, the planet would begin to thrive with new communities of bandits and people coming searching for legendary treasures, but for now it was peaceful and quiet enough for the most part. Mike Kincaid, one of the younger sons, would grow into a strong well-built man who had a passion for guns and whose fire for the craft - not only of making but of finding and selling - he would end up passing to his only son. The considerable lack of trees, even in the area the Kincaids first settled in when coming to the place, made it hard to get a decent business going out of anything other than what the family settled down into after a couple generations. This also made houses and other buildings _not_ made of metal very hard and surprising to come across - most of these buildings were located in a distant part of Pandora called Aegrus and an unnamed Cove also closer to the water than the mainland parts of the planet.

Other than the aforementioned marsh of Aegrus and the wooded Cove, Pandora was mainly comprised of two rather large continents of land and even back in those days the difference in temperature between them was noticeable. The earlier Kincaids traveled the planet, searching for the perfect spot to settle down and start families and look for ways to start their own lives. Mike used to hear rumours of travellers journals that his dad and the relatives before him had used when first coming here, and he had seen what looked to be the very same books but was never so inquisitive as to steal them. As he grew older, and the stories of his would-be relatives disappeared one by one, he found out in a peculiar way that his parents, and his grandparents, had left a collection of things in a large steamer trunk for him.

Since being left the trunk when he reached his mid-twenties, he had only looked at it a few times and never once opened it. Sure, the considerably smaller metal shack he moved into could use some furnishings but the urge was never bad enough for him to run out and find something or open the chest. It wasn't until he met his wife Molly - next to ten years later - that he finally decided to open the chest with her. There were old dresses and suits, likely put away if he needed them for later but he had no clue what he would need these for, and something that gave him considerable pause as he looked further into the chest.

It was his grandfathers' old bronze menorah. It sat wrapped in a dull colored cloth and placed down on a steady stack of books that the youngest Kincaid didn't notice right away, his hands tenderly grabbing it and unwrapping it as if it was something precious to him. Seven small holes for candles spaced at perfectly the same distance apart and with a dark set of jewels dug into the base of the menorah.

After spending a few moments to revel in the shock - that they had given this to him - and he was on his feet to go and find Molly and show her what his family had gave him. She only knew his family from his own stories about them, and some of the faded photographs he had relentlessly held onto, but once she saw the expression on his face she walked over to hold him tightly. Mike still held onto the menorah, as if the slightest drop would break the priceless heirloom, but he held Molly with him with his other hands.

 

 

The two of them always remained affectionate even after the birth of their only son Marcus, and they lived happily in the desert lands of Pandora. Being a first and only child Marcus was as precocious as ever, and even at age 5 he tried to make off with some of his dad's guns and tried to use them - though most of the time the older man caught him in the act, took the gun away, and patted him on the head and told him he'd tell him to shoot when he was older. And every birthday that passed, Marcus would take a small pistol up to his dad and ask him if he could use it now, much to the amusement and worry of his mother. 

Sometimes the family traveled around the planet, or at the very least the region they lived in, trying to educate their son as best they could about what this place was and how to keep safe. The answers to the question "Safe from what?" always varied, but it was clear that his parents were worried about something happening if not to them than to their son.

They loved him. That much was obvious and that they would do anything to ensure that he knew anything he wanted to know. Molly even taught him some of the medical knowledge that she had picked up prior to meeting Mike, though Marcus didn't grasp onto it that well. It took a few times for him to be able to sew a proper stitch in clothing and he never wanted to face trying to do that with someones skin.

 

It was just after his twelfth birthday when he came home after shooting practice on some nearby skags that he saw it. A fire tall as a cliff-side that was completely devouring the metallic shack they've lived in. He dropped the pistol and ran closer to home, trying to see if his parents were still in there, if they were still alright. Marcus hoped they got out alright, desperately needed for them to have gotten out of the house.

A few seconds later Marcus could see something being pushed out the front door and he pulled it the rest of the way out. Marcus was rather broad and tall for his age, and pulling what seemed to be an old steamer trunk out of the way wasn't enough to tire him out. But he could see that his dad was the one pushing the trunk out of the way and what looked to be his mother, covered in burns and wheezing heavily, was lying on top of it. 

"Dad? Dad?" It was easy to tell just by his voice, that Marcus was terrified at what was happening. He couldn't even look at his mother who was dying from the lack of oxygen getting to her lungs and from the intense pain of the burns. Mike, who was also covered in burns and still holding a shotgun sat down in the sand beside the trunk, holding his wife's hand.

The shotgun. Marcus' eyes were drawn to it and he immediately shook his head, knowing what it meant when his dad grabbed his guns. The bandits had attacked. The bandits set fire to their house, were killing his parents. Marcus moved closer to his parents, trying to hold onto his dad's shirt like he did so many times before. Usually there was a doctor, a bit of a crack pot in terms of personality and beside manner, but he was good. They hadn't seen him in weeks and god knew where he was now.

"Marcus..." His dad turned to him and ran a burnt hand through his hair, a sombre expression on his face. It was clear how much pain they were in, and how much his father was trying to shield him from seeing too much. "Marcus my son." He spoke carefully and calmly, much unlike the usually boisterous and joyous way he usually spoke, and that alone brought tears to Marcus' eyes. "Dad...dad no. Don't leave."

The hand in his hair continued ruffling it up, even as Mike looked to his wife, eyes growing slightly dim when he saw she wasn't breathing anymore. He gave a short cough, then a few longer ones, but stopped when he realized that Marcus wouldn't have wanted to see him like this.

Mike put a hand on the chest where his now dead wife was laying and turned to his son, trying to get a good look at him before he followed the love of his life. "Marcus.." He spoke again, his usual smiling mouth set into a grim line, not proud of what he was about to tell his son. Noone liked seeing their child crying and knowing there was nothing to do to stop it or comfort them. "Marcus the chest is yours now. It was given to me by my father..." Mike told him before going into a short set of wheezing coughs.

"Marcus we love you." Mike grabbing his sons shoulders and pressed a tender fatherly kiss to his forehead, hoping that one day Marcus didn't remember how they died, wanting him to remember the good times they had. He didn't regret that these were the last words he ever spoke to his only son.


	2. Growing up on Pandora is hard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcus doesn't exactly get along with other kids his age, and being an orphan certainly doesn't help. 
> 
> Meeting Zed will happen next chapter! Look forward to that!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be the grossest chapter in terms of what actually happens. There is a few rape scenes and a bunch of other gross gorey details. Feel free to skip this chapter as the rest won't be as bad as this one.
> 
> I deeply apologize to the entirety of the fandom.

Anyone who knew _anything_ about Pandora knew that it was an absolute hell to grow up in. And for Marcus, struggling with living on his own and not having anyone to really reach out to after his parents untimely death, it was near impossible. A day didn't go by that he didn't remember them, that he didn't miss them.

Marcus never was a popular kid, and the only kids around were basically bandits who teased him mercilessly over his size and being alone all the time. It was no real secret that he was an orphan, and the fact that he was always dragging around that steamer trunk was even more weird. But when it came to blows, Marcus managed to stand his ground and defend himself - even though he was up against five other kids on a good day. If his dad had still been around he would have taught him how to properly defend himself, how to properly shoot a gun.

But he wasn't.  And there wasn't much in the way of other adults to help him with learning these things. But he stood his ground and learned what he needed to. Marcus was still fond of guns, usually keeping an excess of them in the chest he dragged around with him and using skags and rakks as target practice when he found enough bullets.

Every now and then some young kids used to come around, yelling insults at him and making fun of him, obviously begging for a fight. When they didn't get one from just calling his name they went up to him to throw the first punch. At first, Marcus was terrible at fighting and always ended up hiding with his face full of dirt and a bleeding nose - there was noone around to make sure that he was okay and bandage him up and he largely did that himself with whatever scraps of cloth he could find.

After a week or two of this, Marcus started getting better - hits getting faster, being able to dodge and block some of them. Whatever pride he had about being able to hold his ground soon faded when he realized that often they would come back for him the same day and hold him down while they took blows to his stomach.

 

However, recently they hadn't come back in a few days and Marcus was glad for the momentary reprieve. He was busy eating a small bit of the fried skag he managed to kill the other day and hummed a small tune to himself - vaguely recalling that one of his parents sang it to him when he was a child. That was almost two years ago. Sometimes when he was feeling more nostalgic and homesick than usual he would rifle through the old steamer trunk and look through all the pictures and journals and be momentarily comforted.

Before he could get too comfortable, Marcus could hear the shouts of "Hey orphan!" and footsteps running around the arid hills. The cave that had become his 'home' as of late wasn't deep enough to be much use for hiding and he knew that these dumb kids would stop at nothing until they found him to beat him up again. There was a chance he could run, just get out before they caught him but he wasn't terribly confident in how fast he could run and knew that there were more of them.

The nearby skags were just waking up and could hear, and probably see, the kids running around in the hills and started attacking them. That was just the distraction Marcus needed and he bolted out of the small cave, heading towards the nearest route out of there - or at least he tried before he tripped over something and fell face first into a pile of bones and dirt.

He moved a bit to see what he tripped over and his heart sank into his stomach when he looked up and saw the unfortunately familiar face of one of the bandit kids who usually bullied him. Not wanting to give him any satisfaction he got up again and kept running where he was headed but he could hear more footsteps behind him and knew that the kid who tripped him called for the others.

Marcus got to the entrance when he found it was higher than he expected and now there had to be six of them behind him, getting closer with each passing second putting even more pressure for him to stand his ground and try to fight them off. Even as he turned around, preparing for the inevitable fight, they continued advancing on him and he could see the sickening grins on their faces. Yet not a punch was thrown, and he could practically feel that this wouldn't go down the way it had before. Then the first punch came, a fist right to his face and he bit back a groan of pain as he hit back aiming his fist at his opponents' stomach and hid a grin when it connected and was about to pull back his fist when he felt a knee right in his stomach making him stumble backwards.

This continued for a while, before he could feel his arms being restrained and he kicked out at the closest person, only narrowly missing as he could feel a rough rope being tied around his wrists. They never tied him before now, held his arms back sure, but never tied his arms back and then a sudden jerk of the rope sent him to the ground almost instantly and they were dragging him off. Marcus wanted to do something, needed to do something, but other than trying to kick out at the others there was nothing to do to escape.

The sand was moving up into his mouth and eyes causing him to cough out and blink repeatedly, not that anyone notice this group having tied him up and drag him through the sandy arid hills, and it made him wonder where the hell they were going and what they were going to do to him. On the other side of a hill was where they stopped, coming to a nondescript metal shack that wouldn't be unusual save for the doors that seemed to be firmly attached to it. Marcus had seen many shacks like it but they never had doors on and knew just from that, something bad was going to happen to him. Were they going to kill him?

The kids were advancing on him now, and there was no way out and he could see a kid holding a dark cloth longer than it was wide and his heart was pounding in his chest, not understanding what was going on. The dark fabric was pressed over his eyes and tied there and he kicked out, trying to get them off him but he was roughly turned around and pressed against a wall, unable to move from where he was held.

He could feel his pants getting taken off and suddenly there was uncomfortable pain that got him fidgeting, trying to move away from the pain. There was a rough hand around his neck and it held tightly, trying to get him to stop moving. The pain was growing and Marcus couldn't help but scream out in pain.

 

This torturous pain left for what felt like a week, and the shack was surprisingly dark, though Marcus couldn't see anything even if there was any light shining through the cracks in the ceiling. Right now it was quiet, uncomfortably so, and he got up with shaking legs and struggled with taking the blindfold off. Even though the rope tying his hands together had frayed and fallen away, he could still feel the imprints of it into his wrists. Moving to one of the metal doors was hard and the pain in his legs and throat definitely didn't help, and it robbed him of any ability to call out for help.

Marcus managed to get as far away from the shack as he could, moving along the hill and looking out at the scene. A good distance away he could see the slightly tilted sign of the town over there and hoped that there was some place he could hide down for a little while. Until he managed to figure out what to do next but first he needed to get his belongings and drag it over there. So he headed down to the skag infested gully and with a silent sigh of relief he found the old steamer trunk and dragged it away, getting to the town shortly before it started getting dark. The town was deathly quiet and he could hear the murmurs of an older man, and if it was any lighter out, he would have noticed a bruised and beaten kid dragging a chest double his size and weight behind him.

Luckily he didn't. And for now Marcus was safe.


End file.
